


Insomnia

by LaughableLament



Category: Supernatural
Genre: 5+1 Things, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Brother Snuggles, Don't copy to another site, Fake/Pretend Relationship, First Time, Gift Fic, M/M, Men of Letters Bunker (Supernatural), Pining, Psychological Hurt/Comfort, Rimming, SPN J2 Secret Santa, Snowed In, Switching, There was only one bed!, Weechesters, first time in a long time
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-25
Updated: 2019-12-25
Packaged: 2021-02-26 04:27:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,727
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21957385
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LaughableLament/pseuds/LaughableLament
Summary: Five times when there was only one bed, and once when there wasn’t.
Relationships: Dean Winchester/Sam Winchester
Comments: 18
Kudos: 211
Collections: 2019 Supernatural & CWRPF Holiday Exchange





	Insomnia

**Author's Note:**

  * For [NaughtyPastryChef](https://archiveofourown.org/users/NaughtyPastryChef/gifts).



> Merry Everything to [NaughtyPastryChef](https://archiveofourown.org/users/NaughtyPastryChef)! I was so enamored with all your likes and prompts, I couldn’t resist cramming in as many as I could. ^_^ I sure hope you enjoy the result! Wishing you the happiest holidays and a peaceful, prosperous 2020!
> 
> Eternal love and gratitude to [Nisaki](nisaki-chan.tumblr.com/), literal lifesaver. Puny, feeble words like “beta” and “thanks” don’t do justice. Big hugs to the [SPN J2 Secret Santa](https://spn-j2-xmas.livejournal.com/) mods, for all your work and the joy you bring. Blessings to everyone and happy new year!

I.

Dean rolled out when Dad stumbled in. Red-jawed, arm at a funny angle. “Help me get this coat off.”

“Yes, sir.”

Sammy stirred.

“You need medicine?”

“Nah.” Leather creaked. Buttery-warm in Dean’s fingers and Dad sucked air through his teeth. “Ghoul got my bum shoulder,” Dad said. “Just need rest.”

Dean dug out Dad’s keys.

“Duffle,” Dad said. “Front seat.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Deal with the rest tomorrow.”

Sammy’s questions tailed Dean to the parking lot. “You okay, Dad? Did you get ’em? What happened?”

Dean shivered in his pj’s. Grabbed Dad’s bag and two gas-station plastic empties. Swung by the ice machine to fill them up.

Rattle. Crackle. Clank of gun-on-bottle and a skinny drunk chick draped over the second-story railing. Cherry glowing.

Grown-ups.

Never hurt to suck up. No telling how long Dad’d be laid up, so Dean threw her a nod and a smoke-stained smile flashed back.

Dad one-hand unpacked, unscrewed a whiskey cap while Dean re-laid the salt lines. Little brother big-eyed, corner-huddled. Head of the far bed, white-knuckle fingers and pale arms locked around red flannel knees.

“C’mon, kid,” Dean said. Flipped back the blankets and wormed in. “Make room.”

Cold feet, bony elbows, knockoff No-More-Tears hair.

“Boys gettin’ too big to share,” Dad said.

Sammy rooted, glued to Dean’s chest, under his chin.

To the ceiling, “God I’m…”

“It’s okay, Dad,” Dean said. Lips pressed to Sammy’s head. “It’s okay.”

II.

“I dunno, man.” Dean chucked their clothes bag in a dresser drawer. “For a cult, they seem… nice.”

“That’s because it’s Canada,” Sam said. “Everyone’s nice.”

Dean could see that.

“Seriously, though.” Sam flopped on the loveseat. “Why’d you have to tell them we were married?”

Dean shrugged. “I didn’t like how that… Chester fella was lookin’ at you. If that is his real name.”

“You could talk, George McCartney.”

“Keep with the lip, next time you’ll be Ringo.” Weapons. Those, Dean stowed in the closet.

Sam’s mouth pinched.

“Look.” Dean showed palms. “I heard the single guys sleep in fuckin’ barracks. This way,” he gestured around, “we get privacy.”

“Relatively speaking,” Sam said. “You see all those cameras outside?”

“Yeah.” Dean nodded.

Sam glanced up. “What do you bet there’s an eye in the sky in that smoke detector?”

Dean winced. Mouthed: “You think we’re wired for sound?”

Sam shook his head. “Too many people. You couldn’t keep up. But video, y’know, you can fast-forward until you see something interesting.”

“Like,” Dean’s neck itched. “Me sleeping on the floor interesting?”

Sam swallowed.

“How’s your head?” Dean deflected. “Any more…” He tapped his temple. “Y’know.”

“Not since we crossed the border.”

“I mean. That’s good, right?”

Sam hitched a shoulder.

Bells rang. Dean went tense and Sam stood.

 _“Lights out, beloved.”_ A woman’s voice crooned over a loudspeaker. _“His Holiness wishes you peaceful respite until morning devotional.”_

All across the settlement, barracks and bungalows fell into darkness.

“Geez,” Dean said. “Warn a guy.”

Sam snickered. Then, “Guess we should—”

“Yeah.” No point digging for pj’s in the dark. Dean felt his way to bed, felt the mattress sag and felt Sam’s heat.

“Are you—” Sam shifted; springs creaked. “Are you wearing your jeans?”

“Well, yeah, dude, what are you—Don’t answer that.” Sweat broke down Dean’s back. “Just, just stay on your side.” Sleeping next to Sasquatch, awkward. Sleeping next to _naked_ Sasquatch…

“You’re never gonna rest that way.”

“I’ll rest when I’m dead, Sam. This is fine.”

Dean put his back to the middle, scootched to the edge. Stared out, blind in the night. Ever since Sam came back—since Dean made him come back—he’s had a hard time keeping his hands off. Putting Sam on that bus to California had damn near killed him, and having Sam close again—riding shotgun, bitching about the music, snoring and drooling on the window—even after all this time, it was like… Dean wanted to touch. Make sure he was still there, still real.

He only realized he’d nodded off when he jerked awake, grabbed for the gun not under his pillow and barked a low, “Sam!”

Bed squeaked. Sam grunted and Dean cringed, sweat-soaked sheets.

“Sammy?”

Twisted. Pulled the covers clean off Dean’s side. Shuddery inhale.

“Dude,” Dean breathed. Palmed over clammy skin. “It’s okay, man; I got you.” Grit his teeth, pulled Sam in. Sam squirmed; pulse pounded. Dean gulped down his guilt, mumbled, “Just a nightmare.” Snaked a hand behind his neck. “Can’t hurt you.” Squeezed.

“Dean?” Sam seized. “What are you—”

“Shh.” Dean thumbed Sam’s cheek. “Go back to sleep.” Dean felt him nod, felt tension bleed. Sam pressed against him. Bare skin. Settled in. Dean rubbed soft circles on his chest. Synced up their breath. Eyes fell closed.

Dean slept.

III.

Snow streaked through the low beams lookin’ like some kind of Star Wars hyperspeed. Tiny, icy powder pelted the windshield, froze on the wipers.

Dean cussed, cranked the defroster and clutched the wheel so tight his fingers ached. “Come on, Baby, you got this.”

Arctic windblast T-boned, drove her sidelong into the wrong lane. Dean veered, steered in, coaxed her back across the yellow lines—barely.

“We ain’t gonna make it to Bobby’s.” Slow roll, radio low. “Find us someplace to pull off, huh?” Dean stuck to the ruts and snow crunched.

Flashlight in his mouth, Sam thumbed the map. Garbled, “Looks like a town… four miles.”

“Great, Dean said. “This rate, we’ll get there by daybreak.”

Sam rolled eyes.

Minutes, miles ticked by and Dean muttered through gritted teeth until finally— _finally!_ —outskirts lights. Fuzzy in the blizzard but he made out Mickey-D’s arches, BP’s… flower thing, and a rosy, glowing, _VACANCY_.

Lucky Lady Motor Lodge: two rows of cinderblock, pocked and peeling Navajo white. Packed parking lot. Dean eased up to the office. Sam’s nose, in his phone, not even trying to hide what he was researching.

Dean checked in.

Back in the car, “So there’s good news and bad news,” Dean said. “We got a room but—”

“Don’t tell me the toilet’s broken,” Sam cut in. “Again.”

“Ew. No.” That’d been a rough one; Dean had forgotten. “Where were we, Missouri?”

“Indiana.”

Dean shuddered. “Anyway…” Deep breath and he slid in a parking spot. “Bad news, it’s a king.”

Sam’s throat worked. “One king.”

“Yup.”

“You wanna… try and find someplace else?”

Dean shrugged. “Clerk said everything from here to Idaho’s probably booked. Storm’s a motherfucker, I guess.”

“So.” Tremor in Sam’s voice. “Rock-paper-scissors for the floor?” Almost undetectable.

“It’s a king, Sam. I ain’t freezin’ my ass off just so you—”

“You _could_ win.”

“Fuck you.” Dean rubbed his hands. “Don’t sweat it, man.” Elbowed Sam. “Ain’t like we never… Y’know.”

Sam’s lips disappeared between his teeth.

“You get the door, huh? I’ll get the bags.”

“Sure.”

Sam kicked snow off his boots while Dean grabbed the essentials. One bed loomed like a monster nest.

“Hey,” Dean said. “I’m gonna walk to McDonald’s, hit the gas station. We could be stuck here awhile, so. Any requests?”

“Grilled chicken?” Sam shrugged. “Me and gas station food—”

“Yeah, I know,” Dean sighed. “I’ll get you trail mix, see if they’ve got some bananas.”

Shaky smile. “Thanks.”

Dean made his rounds with his jacket open and gloves off. Figured, he oughta try to enjoy the cold, seeing as Hellfire was his future. Breath steamed. Snow lit on his collar, chilled his neck. He picked up food and drinks, re-upped his rubbers. Librarian in the last town rocked his socks off. Dean grinned. Always the quiet ones…

“I found a Jayhawks game,” Sam said. Far side of the bed. Gray sweats and a too-short t-shirt flashed skin.

“And I,” Dean dug in a bag, “found Wild Turkey on sale.”

“Wow. Not fucking around, huh?”

“Got no place to be.” Dean dropped the McDonald's in front of Sam. “Might as well make it a party.” Unwrapped flimsy cups and cracked the whiskey. “Cheers.”

They threw one back.

Dean plopped on the bed and Sam passed him his sandwich. “Fries?”

Sam tangled fingers handing them over and Dean fought the urge to squeeze.

He wasn’t stupid, and Sam wasn’t subtle.

Wind howled outside. Rattled the windows and seeped through the door. Heater on full-blast, still not quite comfortable. Dean drank. Built up a nice warm buzz before Sam said,

“I want under the covers. Scoot.”

“Wuss.”

Sam flat-mouthed. “We live a life of few comforts, Dean. Just because you—”

“Shut up and drink.”

He tapped Sam’s glass, tipped back. Corner of his eye, Sam’s neck stretched, flexed as he swallowed.

Dean’s tongue tingled, picturing licking up long tendons. Scrape of stubble and Sam’s hot breath.

Sam winced, wet his lips. “Covers.” He rolled out. “I mean it.”

Dean sighed, overdramatic. Swayed to his feet and did not dwell on the white waistband peeking out of Sam’s sweatpants.

Sam slid between the sheets. Settled again, tucked in, and Dean couldn’t help but notice Sam was taking up way more than his fair share of bed. Bare arms brushed, branded Dean.

Sam leaned into him. “Not so bad, huh?” Scrunched against the headboard.

“What’s that?” Dean rasped.

“One king.” Sam slid a hand against Dean’s. Eyes on the TV. Hooked their pinkies.

“Sam…”

Looked up, like he was little again. “Tell me I’m wrong.” Pleading. “Say I’m a sick freak and I should be the one to go to—”

Dean kissed him. Tender on the forehead. “You’re not wrong, Sammy, I just—”

“Let me.” Sam cupped Dean through his jeans.

“Jesus.” Dean hauled in a breath.

“I want you.”

Reflex. Rubbed on Sam’s hand. “Sammy, come on.” Weak swing at laugh-it-off. “You’re drunk, man.”

“Not that drunk,” Sam mumbled at his shoulder, and, “We’re already damned.”

Dean flinched.

“Give us this.”

Teeth sank in his lip, stomach clenched, and heat and light and weight and _Sam_ —lodestone, scrying crystal, star Dean spun around. Sam pressed down; Dean hissed and hitched. Eyes squeezed and his blood rushed. Cheeks flushed, dick filled up.

Dean twisted. Gripped Sam’s neck and thumbed his chin. Sam stared: part dare, part desperation and all hot want. Hair prickled Dean’s knuckles. Pulse drummed his palm.

“You’re sure,” Dean said. “’Cause this… just gonna make it harder when—”

“I’m gonna save you, Dean.” Chin ran out. “Lilith can’t have you; you’re mine.”

“Yeah, Sam.”

Adam’s apple rose and fell. “Yeah as in—”

This kiss grazed Sam’s lips. Heartbeats slipped past, stillness in the symphony of storm, asthmatic heater, ballgame blaring on TV. Sam’s jaw dropped. Tongue smacked, dry mouth sound and he surged. Thighs curled around. Lean and hard and huge, Sam rocked, kissed Dean like a drowned man breaking the surface and Dean ragdolled. Sam licked in. Dean groaned. Sam growled and bowled Dean over, flipped him under. Catty-cornered, twisted covers. Popped to his knees and paused.

“Can I...” Sam hovered, fingers twitched above Dean’s fly.

Dean craned up and watched as Sam undid him. Shivered. Dick strained, stretched his shorts and Sam rubbed through the wash-worn cotton. Dean squirmed. Wriggled his shirts off. Amulet Sam gave him bounced on his chest. Dean rasped, “Your turn.”

Sam grinned. Stripped to his waist. Shifting muscles under pale skin. Dust of chest hair. Tight brown nipples. Scars and moles and six-pack. Hip grooves. Dean bucked. Ass up off the mattress and Sam peeled Dean’s jeans off. Ditched his sweatpants. Dived in kissing, starved and bruising. Mouthed down Dean’s neck.

Dean cradled him, tugged at his hair and scratched his scalp. Knees fell apart and Sam slipped between. Cocks bumped. Hitchy breath and Dean gulped a lump.

_It’s for Sam._

Lips closed over Dean’s nipple, under his ink. Back bowed, Dean groaned. Sam slid an arm underneath and he sucked, licked, nipped as they rolled together. Dick raked Sam’s abs, caught in his navel. Sam sucked, stubble scraping, back and forth until Dean went raw. Tight points, wet and swollen. Shaking thighs and aching balls and Sam slid fingers down Dean’s spine. Teased at the top of his crack and his eyes flicked up. Questioning.

Dean’s abs seized, and he focused, breathed. Tucked a lock of long hair behind Sam’s ear, and, “Anything you want, Sammy, you know that.”

Lashes fluttered. Dimples peeked.

Sam kissed Dean’s breastbone. Tongued his ribs. Tickle reflex kicked but Dean held on. Hissed when Sam bit, soft of his belly.

“Mine,” Sam muttered. Sucked sharp.

Dean clawed at the covers; Sam made his mark. Drifting, dragging lips. Sam’s nose in his pubes, tongue at his root and Dean curled up, choked a moan. Sam licked his underside, fat wet stripe. Scalding, kiss at his cockhead. Suction, then, and Dean’s fists banged the mattress. Sam spread a hand across his middle. Tucked his teeth and worked his tongue and Dean’s jaws locked, eyes rolled back. Black descended. Sheer rank filth of his little brother’s gifted mouth—

“Sammy.”

Slurp-popped. “You okay?”

Dean panted, arm across his face. “Don’t stop.”

Mattress squeaked and Sam’s big hands blazed behind Dean’s thighs. Pressure, leverage. Rolled him, spread him. Nose at his balls and Dean cussed. Sam sank. Tongued his taint and pushed him higher, wider. Beard burned. Dean barely breathed, and when Sam’s wet heat swiped his hole he damn near shot into orbit. Goosebumps ripped. He bucked and kicked and Sam backed off.

“Maybe you should…” Turn-over gesture.

“Yeah.” And he put his face in a pillow, let Sam pose him, ass in the air. Thumbs slid between his cheeks, Sam’s fingers squeezed and palms massaged. “C’mon.” Before he lost his nerve, “Let’s do this.”

Sam’s mouth landed. Circled, flicked and fluttered. Dean balled fists and fought the shakes. Sam touched him everywhere, felt up his balls and jerked his dick. Tongue tip, wormed and swirled and _pushed_. Dean opened. Yelped. Pitched forward.

“Sorry. Sorry.”

Sam stayed quiet. Ran his hands up Dean’s back, stroked down his sides. Dean lifted. Sam hooked his hips. “Hot like this,” when he finally spoke. “You still okay?”

Dean waved his butt around. “Just impatient.” Blustered, “C’mon, Sammy, gimme that dick.” Swallowed.

Sam didn’t call bullshit. “We need—”

“Just got some.” Dean tipped his head. “Gas station bag.”

Thin plastic rustled. Bedsprings screeched. Dean’s chest squeezed. Knees and elbows ached. Too sober. Sam went down, licked again, slid a finger in. Soft gasp but Dean bent his back and took it. Stung a little. Catch and drag as Sam push-pulled, twisted in him. Dean hissed. Sam nosed in, mouthed around where Dean was split. Spit slicked, tongue tease-tickled and Dean squirmed. Flushed and sweat.

Sam pulled back. Knuckles grazed Dean’s thigh. Foil wrapper crackled. Smear of lube and Dean’s nails dug in his palms. He could do this; Sam needed this.

“Dean?” So small. Sam tugged his hip. “I wanna see you.”

Couldn’t stifle his shudder. Deep breath, and Dean rolled over. Sam hovered. Rubber-wrapped dick in his hand, hair in his eyes, lip in his teeth. Dean hooked his knees. Lied, “I’m ready, man, let’s—”

Sam dipped, cut him off with a kiss, and Dean… He could take Sam’s dick, but…

“Want you, Sammy,” and it turned his stomach because it was true.

Sam lined up. Slipped out. Lined up again and Dean bent in half. Sam’s tongue peeked. Sweat stuck to his temples and ran down his neck. Abs flexed. Dean willed his ass open. Condom, slicker than fingers. Thicker, hotter.

“God.” Sam’s head fell back.

Dean burned. Thought it’d hurt more, but mostly he just felt—

“Too tight,” Sam said. “You’re not, I should—”

“Sam, if you puss out now, I swear to God.”

Sam wide-eyed.

“Just… just gimme a minute.”

Dean squeezed. Sam groaned. Chests heaved. Dean tilted his hips, Sam spread him, and inch after inch he drew his brother in. Sam touched. Tender nipples, cock and balls. Thighs and hips and belly and Dean shook down to the molecules. Sam stared. Wide pupils and a little wrinkle over his nose. Flushed red, glistening chest and straining arms.

“Dean, I—”

“Yeah, Sammy, come on.”

“I’m not… God, you’re so hot.”

Dean seized. “Do it.”

Sam groaned like he took a punch. Shoulder-hooked Dean’s ankles, kissed inside a calf and Dean’s face blazed. Shallow, slow. Dean rocked against him. Red friction. Strung-out, Dean fought through and all at once Sam lit him up. Dean yelled, punched the bed and cussed. Sam held on. Hammered. Faster. Wrapped a fist around Dean’s leaking cock.

Dean blew. Eyes rolled back and he bucked and squirmed. Sam howled. White sparks. Dean shot on himself. Scrabbled and clawed.

Sam crashed into him. Caught his lips. Teeth knocked, tongues plunged, collision-kiss. Softening, Sam left him empty. Sore. In his ass, in his abs, and—

“Dean?” Sam bumped their foreheads.

Dean grabbed his neck. “Yeah, Sammy, I got you.”

Sam shook. Laughing, wild. Deep dimples and back teeth. Sam rolled off. Ditched the rubber and Dean dragged him in, kissed him again.

Sam passed out plastered to Dean’s chest. They’d be a mess, come morning, but Dean would’ve sawed his arm off rather than move Sam. One hand, one foot hooked and smoothed a blanket, covered them. Fingers tangled in Sam’s sweaty hair. Dean kissed him quiet. Cut the TV.

IV.

Stakeouts sucked.

Dean picked at his binocular strap, curled across the wobbly table. Stared through the curtain crack at Room 118 of the Star Inn next door. He fought a yawn, rolled his shoulders and popped his neck.

Fresh out of coffee. Sam snored soft and Dean didn’t want to wake him, trying to make more. Dean rubbed his forehead. Looked at his watch for the fiftieth time. Thirty-one minutes until Sam’s shift; he could gut it out.

Sam’s alarm blared. Groaning, Sam reached for his phone. Rasped, “Seen anything?” Shut down the ringtone.

“Nada,” Dean said. “You sure this guy’s our kitsune?”

“No, Dean.” Sam’s long legs swung off the bed, sleep pants bunched around his calves. “That’s why we’re watching him. Get proof.”

 _Right_. “You’re up early.”

Sam bent down, reached for his socks and sneakers.

“Don’t tell me you’re going jogging this time of night.”

Sam shrugged. “Just to the truck stop.” Fluffed his hair where the pillow had smushed it. “Thought you might want breakfast.”

Dean perked up. “Sammy, I’m always down for breakfast.”

Shoulder hitched. Full-dimpled half-grin. “Bacon-egg-and-cheese?”

Dean crossed his hands over his heart.

Sam stood. Stretched and his fingers brushed the ceiling. Shirt hiked up, bare skin flashed.

Dean wrenched his eyes back toward the window. “How often do these things…” Chin jerked. “Y’know, feed. You remember?”

Sam huffed an exhale. “I dunno. Maybe… Every couple of days?”

“Very scientific.” Dean shot him a look.

“In any case,” Sam rolled eyes. “We agreed. Tail this guy until Friday. Meantime, look for other suspects.”

“Yeah, yeah.”

Sam put coffee on. Dean took in, again, how _big_ the kid got while he was in the Pit. Ripped abs, bulging arms. Shirt strained on his shoulders when Sam reached for a key. “Text me, if you see anything. I won’t be long.”

Dean hoped not. Every minute Sam was out of his sight unnerved him. Some street-preaching Jesus freak just had to say the wrong prayer, and… Dean cringed. “Watch your back.”

“I always do.” Sam headed out.

Dean yawned. Drummed on the table. Awful time to be awake, crazy late or crazy early. _Devil’s Hour_. Wished he hadn’t thought of that.

He caught himself glancing at Sam’s bed. Looked like a bomb went off, which was typical. Sam never had slept still. Dean grew up bruised, chest to his knees from Sammy throwing elbows, flailing feet. He fought off thinking about that one night Sam really rested. Snowstorm raging outside and a whole other storm in Dean’s head. Waking up to an empty bed. Sam on that computer, looking for loopholes. Neither one had ever brought it up again, even when Sam found all those stories on the Internet.

_“That’s just sick.”_

Dean was fine with it.

Watch beeped. Time to wake up Sammy. Dean shook his head. On cue, Sam jogged across the parking lot. Dean used the binoculars. Checked out Sam’s flushed cheeks, damp-sweaty hair. Truck stop bag swung off his wrist and a newspaper poked from his armpit.

Dean groaned, shoving up out of the chair. Knees popped and his back ached. Coffee. Two cups. Dean set them on the table just as Sam rolled in.

“Stakeout spot’s yours.” Dean pointed. “I’m gonna scarf this down and get unconscious.”

Sam dropped the bag. Threw his jacket on the bed and took his coffee. “Still nothing, huh?”

“Not a peep.” Dean opened his sandwich. “Sammy! Extra bacon?” Beamed. “You really do care!”

Sam squinted. “Or… I’m trying to murder you with triglycerides.”

“What a way to go.” Dean dug in.

Sam nibbled at a fruit cup, eyes out the window. Jaws worked, long neck flexed as he chewed and swallowed. Dean couldn’t square it. So fussy about food, but that skank demon—

Nope. Sam had a clean slate. Dean had to keep telling himself.

Sam straightened. Grabbed the binoculars.

“You see something?” Dean asked.

“Lights just came on. I think.” Sam leaned, looking for a better sight-line.

“Lemme see!” Dean jumped up, reached for the binoculars and Sam jerked back—

Slo-mo. Neck strap caught a table corner and coffee, fruit, half-biscuit with extra bacon launched through the air.

“Ohhh, shit.” Sam’s hand came up, hid his mouth.

“Son, of, a, bitch.” Helpless, Dean watched as breakfast shrapnel rained all over his bed. He broke toward the bathroom. Dashed for the towel rack. If he could mop it up fast enough—

“Dean, he’s on the move.”

Dean’s eyes, fists, and jaws clenched. “On the move like—”

“Getting in his car; we gotta go.”

Dean scooped up his jacket and followed Sam out. Spared a sad glance over his shoulder. He could’ve used that food, to say nothing of the coffee. Plus, y’know, his fucking bed.

Sam climbed in shotgun. “I’m sorry, Dean. I didn’t—”

“I know,” Dean sighed. Cranked the engine. “Shit happens.”

At least they ganked the kitsune. Busted him stalking a working girl, claws out and eyes all foxy. Dean drew his attention while Sam slipped a blade in his back. They bought the girl a cab, last of their cash, and stashed the corpse down an alley before the sun rose.

“Do the salt and burn tonight?” Sam asked.

“Damn right, I cannot _wait_ to cra—” Dean was halfway through the door before he remembered. “Ah, hell.”

“Hey.” Sam put out the _Do Not Disturb_ sign. “Why don’t you take my bed? It was my fault, and it’s your turn to sleep—”

“No…” Dean slumped. “We can share.” Dropped the weapons bag and trudged for the bathroom. “I’m gonna pass out in like, oh-point-two seconds anyway.”

“Are you…”

Dean caught Sam’s reflection above the sink. Nervous shoulders, tight mouth.

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah,” Dean bluffed. “Although, Chuck’s—what’d you call ’em— _slash fans?_ Are gonna have a field day with this.”

Sam’s mouth fell open.

Dean turned. Looked his brother in the eye. “We’ll be okay, Sam.”

Ducked head.

“Seriously.”

Eyes up. Fuckin’ puppy shit.

“Everything’s gonna be okay.”

They turned in. Back-to-back and each one riding an edge. Dean listened to Sam not sleeping.

Oh-point-two had been… optimistic.

Bed smelled like Sam: dry wood, spice, and pricey shampoo. Blankets tangled at Dean’s feet. Drove him crazy but he didn’t move. Sam breathed like he was thinking about it. Rhythmic. Unnatural. Dean stared at his ruined bed, almost laughed. What a difference three feet made.

Flashes. Dad, snoring over there. Sam’s nightmares, far back as he could remember. One cold night, two years plus Hell ago…

Sam shifted. Mattress creaked. Dean could roll over, break this open, but that was Sam’s job, the big talks.

Dean forced his eyes shut. Close to sleep as he was gonna get.

V.

Dean drove. Bobby’s old flask rode heavy in his pocket and for all he knew, Satan rode in the backseat. Sammy kept jamming that thumb in his palm—stone number fuckin’ one—and Dean ached to reach out, lay a hand behind Sam’s neck, maybe never turn him loose.

High alert. Searching down side roads, checking the rearview. Every car. Every dog walker and jogger and Boy Scout helping an old lady across the street, Dean saw Levi teeth.

Fuck, he hated being on the run—Dean was a square-up-and-fight kind of guy—and the crap cars, constant paranoia; dusty, drafty, mouse- and mold-infested squats… Dean shot a glance sideways. Sam hunched, pale and tight-mouthed. Pointed reminder that now was not the time to crack.

They had to find a place to lay low.

“Hey. Sam?” Like coaxing a spooked horse.

“What’s up?” Brave face, Dean had to hand it to him.

“You-uh. You think you can find us a crash pad?” Day before yesterday, he’d have had Bobby on it.

Sam’s lips squeezed white. “Yeah. I-uh…”

“Ain’t gotta be fancy, man, just… not far.”

Sam jerked a nod. Dug up his burner.

Dean gripped the wheel, lock-jawed. Eyes cut to Sam, phone in his hand, map in his lap, muttering under his breath. They rolled through a town: one stoplight, two gas stations, and five churches. Old-school motel. Neon sign, white steel struts, and pastel paint. What Dean wouldn’t give for one of those skeevy rooms, but the risk... Dean huffed. He’d thought they’d lived off the grid before. Be a joke if their lives weren’t hanging on it.

“I think—” Sam’s eyes flicked. Dean didn’t ask at what. “I think I’ve got something. Just past the county line.”

“Point the way.”

“It’s… it’s not much.”

“Four walls and a roof, man; we just gotta regroup.”

Sam navigated. Forest and farmland flashed past. Beat-up Buick rattled, over and around the low hills, under the trees. Dean’s chest hurt; Baby would’ve eaten this road alive. Blacktop gave way to gravel. Bumps and potholes bounced them around.

“Look for a—” Sam twitched. “A dirt road coming up on your right.”

“Ten-four. Dirt road on the right.”

Driveway, more like. Less than a hundred yards, and the path ended at an old trailer. Brush and leaves piled around the half-rotted steps. Rust stains trailed from grimy windows.

Sam winced. “Told you it wasn’t much.”

Dean backhanded him, let his knuckles drag Sam’s arm. “It’ll get the job done, man; that’s all we need.”

Sam flashed relief—like he’d thought Dean was gonna bitch him out. “We should get sleeping bags.”

“Uh-huh,” Dean agreed, “and weapons, obviously. Deal with the rest tomorrow.”

Place reeked like cigarettes and kerosene. Not a lot of daylight made it through the dirt and dingy curtains. Furniture-wise, one brokedown couch and a big spool for a table. Matted carpet that maybe was green once. Fridge didn’t even have a door, and the stove probably hadn’t been lit since Bill Clinton was president.

Sam shined his flashlight down the hall. “You wanna check out the bedrooms?”

Bedroom, turned out. Singular. Big mattress on the floor and the space heater Dean had been smelling. Corners piled with junk.

“Gonna be dark soon,” Dean said. “Might as well…” Dropped his sleeping bag and Sam followed suit.

Dean got to unrolling, but Sam zoned out. Stared at the far corner and thumbed his palm.

“Hey.” Dean snapped his fingers. “Donnie Darko.”

Sam only jumped a little.

“You gonna be all right?”

Sam ducked his head. “Sorry.”

“Nope.” Dean showed palms. “Don’t apologize, just… try to stay with me huh?”

Chewed lip, Sam nodded.

“There any gas in that thing?” Dean pointed at the heater.

Sam gave it a nudge. Not a slosh. “Doesn’t sound good.”

Dean blew out his cheeks. “Okay then. Y’know. We’ll just…”

Sam knelt, undid his bedroll. Dean took charge, zipped Sam’s up with his and Sam watched, intent.

“Bobby would have found us something better,” Sam said.

Dean’s chest clenched. “Hey. Cut it out. You did good, man.”

Sam shrugged.

Dean turned his back, sank to the mattress and pulled his boots off, shucked his coat. Sam came around, sat down beside him.

“Gonna be okay, Sammy, I promise. We’ll figure this out.”

Sam picked at his buttons.

“Go on.” Dean threw the sleeping bag open and jerked his chin. Sam crawled in. Curled up, facing the corner, _that_ corner and Dean said, “Huh-uh.” Tugged Sam’s shoulder, turned him over. Laid down facing him and hooked a hand behind Sam’s neck. Fuck, the kid was tense. “Get some rest, huh?” Dean pulled him close; foreheads touched. “I got you.”

Plus…

Dean rolled over, punched his pillow and tried to relax. Hallway lights’ soft glow spilled under his door. Smell of lemon Pledge hung in the air. Big yawn, and he shifted his legs. Forced his eyes to close and tried to concentrate on breathing. Central heat hummed. Desk clock ticked. Dean’s side itched and he flipped again. Hiked up his shirt to scratch.

Been a week since his last good four hours. Stupid. First time in his life he’d had a space of his own and he couldn’t rest. Spent his nights drinking, wandering, taking inventory. These Men of Letters… He didn’t know what to make of them yet, but they had good shit. Charms and spells, mountains of lore. Dean’s chest seized. Bobby would’ve loved this place.

Every night he’d tossed and turned. Tried counting sheep, Sammy’s hippie self-hypnosis. Fuck, last night he’d exercised—this bunker’s gym was awesome—and choked down a cup of warm milk.

Heat kicked off. Dean’s room— _his own room!_ —fell almost silent. Dean sighed. Sat up to smooth the covers. He’d give it one more chance and then…

Movement. Shadow, passing by his door. Dean rolled out and grabbed an iron crowbar, just in case. Flipped on his flashlight, let his eyes adjust. Eased out into the hall and spotted Sam, rounding the corner toward the map room. Dean put down his weapon and hustled to catch up.

“Can’t sleep either, huh?”

Sam turned from the bookshelf he was scanning. Dark circles under his eyes. He shook his head.

“I feel you, man,” Dean said. “I ain’t slept since we moved in. I dunno if it’s… being underground, or it’s just… too quiet or…”

Sam yawned. Dean grit his teeth. Couldn’t help but think about Sam, wide awake and dying in that psych ward. Fuck, and he hadn’t slept at all when he was soulless. Kid had been through Hell since he got out of Hell, and it churned Dean’s guts, all the ways he’d fucked up, failed Sam, almost lost him. “Tell me what you need.” _Not this time_. “I ain’t had any luck so far, but I’ll…”

Sam’s chin dropped, lashes fluttered.

“Sammy?”

Big shoulders rose and fell. “You really wanna know?”

Dean swallowed. “Yeah, man, lay it on me.”

“I miss you.”

Dean rocked. Leave it to Sam to cut straight through his bullshit.

“It’s like…” Sam peeked up. “I feel… safer? I guess? Knowing you’re right there, hearing your breathing?”

Tunnel vision.

“I dunno, maybe if we… left the doors open or—”

“No,” Dean said.

Sam slumped.

“I mean…” Damn his mouth was dry. “What if we share?”

This time, Sam rocked. “You mean… share like…”

“Come to bed with me.”

Sam wide-eyed.

“Look,” Dean said. “I ain’t, trying to pressure you, I just…” Needed this, needed Sam, but, “It’s an invitation, okay? That’s all.”

Sam bit his lip. Looked so fragile. Best hunter Dean had ever seen, somehow still small and scared, curled in a corner begging big brother to fix it.

“I’m gonna…” Dean nodded back toward the bedrooms. “Y’know.” Shrugged. “It’s your call, Sam.”

Little brother’s giant feet on the tiles behind him. Dean’s pulse rushed. Heat climbed his neck when he heard Sam duck in his own room. Dean didn’t look back. Couldn’t blame the kid. All the shit they’d waded through, all the blood and death and Hellfire… Whatever they’d wanted from each other once, whatever they’d been… Dean winced. Maybe Cas left that in the Cage too.

Dean straightened his sheets, tucked in the corners. Popped the blanket, let it settle on a puff of air.

“Hey.” Sam hovered in the doorway. Pillow clutched to his chest.

“Hey.” Tension fled Dean’s shoulders. Sweeping gesture, gameshow hostess. “Pick a side.”

Sam walked in, put down his pillow. Shotgun.

“Nice choice.”

Sam peeled off his shirt.

Dean stared. “You-uh, trying to gimme ideas here, Sammy?”

“No! I just—” Sam stammered. “This place gets so hot.”

Dean gulped down his nerves. Pulled back the covers and jerked his chin. Sam slid in, sat up and watched as Dean shut the door.

In the dark, Dean found his bluster. “See? You could sleep naked in here and I wouldn’t even know.”

“That… seems unlikely.” Sam said.

Dean crawled in next to him. Bare skin radiated. “Maybe it’s more like…” He propped on an elbow, looked down at his brother as his eyes adjusted. “I wouldn’t mind.”

Little hitchy breath.

“I mean… if you still…”

“Dean—”

“It’s okay if you don’t.” Dean rushed. “We have been through some _shit_ since the last—”

Sam dragged him down. Fist in his shirt, breath in his mouth. Wild eyes, nearly all pupils. Flaring nostrils. Flushed skin. “And what about tomorrow, huh? You gonna act like it never happened? Again?”

“I…” Dean reeled. “You ditched me, man, like a drunk one-nighter.” Worst morning of his life, reaching for Sam and catching air.

“I was trying to keep you out of Hell.”

“So you just—”

“And it was obvious you regretted it.”

Dean deflated. Rolled onto his back and Sam let him go. “I didn’t regret it. Okay? Felt guilty as shit, but I wouldn’ta took it back.” Sam’s arm burned against him. “And… Y’know… After I got outta Hell…”

“You didn't trust me anymore.”

“And that I regret. If I’da listened to you, paid more attention—”

“I stalked you,” Sam broke in. “That whole year, you were with Lisa.”

Dean faced Sam, watched his profile.

“All the things I did, all the people I hurt.”

“Sammy.”

“I knew. You and your… moral compass—”

Dean scoffed.

“—would’ve made me less efficient.”

Under the covers, Dean touched Sam’s hand.

“You would’ve put my soul back, months earlier. How many people would still be alive if…” Sam’s throat flexed.

Dean sighed. “It’s like we never learn, huh?”

Sam turned his head. “Dean—”

He kissed Sam. Cut him off. They could waste all night listing their fuck-ups. Sam’s surprised grunt melted into moaning. Lips went pliable and he slid a hand behind Dean’s neck.

“Let’s get it right this time,” Dean said. “Quit fuckin’ around and—”

Sam kissed him. Tongue swiped and Dean fought back. Slipped in Sam’s mouth, licked behind his teeth. Long fingers squeezed and noses bumped. Dean pushed Sam’s hair off his face and thumbed Sam’s cheekbone.

“Nightstand,” Dean breathed. “You-uh. Want me on my knees, or—”

“Not this time.” Lip in his teeth. Eyes went a little wide and—

Lightbulb. “Oh!” Dean flashed a sleazy smirk. “Well okay then.” Sam rolled eyes and Dean kissed him again. Chin gesture. “Stuff’s still on your side though.”

Sam grinned. Twisted toward the edge and Dean palmed circles on his back while he searched the drawer. Foil crackled. Sam stashed the rubber and lube on the ledge above the bed, then pounced. Tugged up Dean’s shirt, kissed him desperate. Dean sat up, let Sam strip him. Flipped and pinned him. Sam arched, sweaty already. Hair flared across the pillow and Dean locked on the hollow above Sam’s collarbone. Tongue and suction. Sam’s hand cradled Dean’s head, legs circled his hips and Dean dragged on him. Half-mast and growing.

Dean came up for air. Sam pawed at his waistband, worked Dean’s pants down. Dick popped free and he rolled off. Shoving, kicking, trashed the covers. Both got naked. Crashed into each other. Scrabbled, groped, and tumbled and Sam went under. Spread-legged and squirming. Dean knelt above him. Hands around Sam’s tiny waist and he stroked Sam’s sides, thumbed his nipples. Sam gasped, Dean got smug until Sam got a hand around, jerked and squeezed. Dean’s eyes rolled back, abs seized. Hips kicked. Fuck he’d never live it down if he came like this, but Sam took mercy, turned him loose. Reached, and Dean pitched forward. Foreheads pressed and fingers gripped and cocks jumped. Lips collided.

Sam moaned, rocked into him. Tangling tongues and clicking teeth. Dean pulled hair and Sam pulsed, tipped his head and offered his throat. Dean kissed. Raked and licked and sucked and nipped and Sam quaked. Dean trailed down, teased and tasted. Traced Sam’s nipples, navel, hips. Sam fluttered. Precome leaked, slippery and sweet and Sam breathed ragged, and when Dean sealed his mouth around, Sam yelled.

Jaws stretched. Eyes wet. Dean took maybe half before Sam banged his fists and heels. Cussed, begged, and threatened. Dean popped off. Tongue-flicked Sam’s ridge. Looked up, caught Sam staring. Sin-dark eyes and wet lips, subtle gleam in the low light. Sweat shined. Soaked Sam’s hair around his face and glinted off his neck.

Sam touched Dean’s face. Didn’t have to say a word. Dean lurched, grabbed his supplies and slid back to his knees. Palmed inside Sam’s thigh.

“Do it. Fuck.” Through gritted teeth. Sam rolled up, grabbed his knees and Dean went fuzzy-brained. Bright spots danced in his vision.

Cap clicked. Cool slick. Dean rubbed thumb and fingers. Hand on Sam’s ass.

“Come on.” Sam bucked. “Want you.”

And Dean slid smooth between Sam’s cheeks. Sam groaned, tilted his hips and split and squeezed around Dean’s fingertip. “Holy shit.” Dean pushed and Sam gave. Took him to the knuckle in one slow slip.

Clenching. Sam’s insides trembled on Dean’s finger. Sweat tickled down his back and his knees ached.

“More,” Sam panted. “God, I need it.”

“Jesus, Sammy.”

Dean fucked, fingered Sam until he took two easy. Curled and twisted. Felt around—

Sam howled, dropped his legs and bridged up off the mattress.

Dean stayed with him, buried in him. Hand at Sam’s hip on for the ride. “Fuck, I bet you can come just like this.”

“No!” Sam growled.

Dean blinked.

“Come with me.” Sam squirmed, gasped and shook.

Invitation like that? “Okay, Sammy. I got you.”

“Do it. Do it now. I can’t…”

Dean licked lips. Slid out. Sam groaned. Dick bobbed, dribbled on his belly and Dean rolled on the rubber. Spread Sam’s ass and stared. Sam flexed. Hole pink-stretched and shiny. Dean petted over it; Sam’s breath caught. Dean lined up. Resistance. “Dude, you—”

Sam’s back bent and Dean’s head disappeared. Twin moans. Sam clawed the covers, muttered. Dean burned up. Sam twitched around him, opened for him, and slowly, slowly, Dean got buried. Panting. Dean gripped Sam around the hips and held them, welded together. Sam chewed his lip, hands in his hair, eyes screwed shut.

Dean trembled. “Sammy, I gotta—”

Rippling. Dean tipped, snagged Sam’s bottom lip and let him fuck himself from underneath. Dean breathed filth, encouragement. Swiveled, swirled inside. Hooked a knee and—

“Yes, Dean. Fuck me.”

Dean went all-in. Slapping skin, headboard hammered the wall and Sam huffed, breath knocked out on every stroke. Shivers, sweats, climbing heat. Balls got tight and Sam got loose. Dean gritted teeth. “You gonna blow with me, little brother?” Sam seized. Dean barely had to touch him before he roared, shot up his chest and dragged Dean over with him.

Minutes, maybe years went by while Dean collected his wits. Limp in Sam’s arms, wilting dick and warmth in his chest. Dean pushed up and groaned. Dealt with the rubber and Sam stared, glassy-eyed.

Dean leered. “Rocked your world, huh?”

Sam laughed. “Fuck you.”

Dean’s smirk softened. “You wanna join me in the shower? I’m gonna have to change those sheets anyway; might as well…”

Sam winced, sitting up. Dean got smug again, but Sam got serious. “Dean, are we—”

“We’re good, dude.” Dean winked. “Long as we’re together, fightin’ the good fight—”

“Saving people, hunting things?” Sam recited.

“Lookin’ out for each other.”

Sam gave a nod.

“Now.” Dean reached out. “Shower time. We’re gonna christen every room in this place. I say we get started.”

Sam took Dean’s hand.


End file.
